Piece By Piece, You Will Heal
by ec-writes
Summary: She still sleeps with a knife beneath her pillow. / / A gift to sarabethloves. Edwin. Companion piece for her Reign/Sovereign AU. Read her fic(s), they're wonderful.


A/N: This fic is a gift for sarabethloves, based in her lovely Reign alternate universe. If you enjoy this, please go to her page and read her fics.

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She still sleeps with a knife beneath her pillow.

He finds it unexpectedly, reaching out for her hand and instead finding its point. The revelation is startling, reminding him of long ago when he found her screaming in the night. He never forgot the way she looked at him. How her eyes followed his every movement, like a cornered animal as she clutched that very blade.

What she went through, what she _felt_ … It haunts her still.

The thought alone is enough to keep him awake.

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She takes in a deep breath as the winds of the field blow against her. "I wish I could stay here forever."

He smiles, leaning back into the grass as she drops to the ground beside him.

"You say that every time we come here," he replies.

"And I mean it." She closes her eyes and curls into herself. "It's _perfect_. I have everything I need."

"I doubt your sister would appreciate that sentiment," he retorts.

A chuckle leaves her, and the weight of her head falls against his arm. "You know what I mean."

"Don't think I do," he begins. "No loud music, no ballrooms, no _tarts_. You'd be bored in a day."

"I'd have you to entertain me," she says.

He arches a brow at her. "Didn't know I went from being your stationed Knight to your personal Jester."

The comment leaves her smiling, "You make me laugh and keep me safe," her hand snakes its way to his and squeezes, just a little too tightly. "That's enough to make me happy."

Her eyes remain shut, so doesn't see how her words leave his face flushed. He tries to think of something to say in return, but he always comes across too brash or ill-spoken. With a breath, slowly, softly, he leans his head down and offers a kiss to her forehead.

He hopes she knows that it's enough for him, too.

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In the time that passes, her smiles grow more honest. Her laughter is loud and infectious. The frameless cloaks and dresses are left forgotten, and she does not flinch when someone moves to touch her. She dances freely, like wind incarnate, and when she kisses him, _gods_ , nothing in the world could ever match how whole it makes him.

But he can still see the damage that lingers under every laugh and every grin, how her eyes dart to every person as they stand just a little too close. She hides it well, but he knows she is still broken.

He wishes there is a way he could make it better.

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The smell of her skin is enough to drive him crazy.

He hovers over her; the air of her every gasp urges him closer, but he wills himself not to move.

"Tell me what to do," he whispers.

"Kiss me," she breathes.

He lowers himself just slightly, his mouth brushing against the curve of her ear. "Where?"

" _Everywhere,"_ she groans, and he bites back a laugh as her hands cup his jaw, forcing his lips to meet hers.

The taste of her is intoxicating, but he keeps his composure, meeting her every action with reciprocation as he waits for her command. It is not in his nature to be so submissive. He is known for his insubordination and taking action too quickly, but with her, in these private moments, he will bend to her every whim.

"Neck," she whispers, and he claims the skin with unbridled kisses.

"Chest."

"Stomach."

"Hips."

"Oh gods, _Ed."_

There is never a moment that she hesitates with him, and that is all he wants for her. Though he knows there are times she feels imperfect and broken, he does his best to show her that she is loved and desired.

So long as she will have him, he will prove to her that what happened before will _not_ happen again. He wants her to know she is will always be in control with him.

She will always be safe.

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Their sparring sessions grow more frequent.

She fights like she dances; fully, focused, and with ease. To watch her with a blade is enticing, but to be the one she fights is… indescribable.

Perhaps, it is because she presents her raw emotions with brazen as their weapons clash. Perhaps it is the way she smiles as they finally lower their blades, panting and wiping at her eyes just a little too much for it to be sweat. He can see how it helps her release the tension in her heart, and so we will spar with her as many times as she needs.

His majesty —her father— was right to train her in the ways of a warrior. He wonders if she would want to do the same if she bears a daughter someday.

In the back of his mind, as he watches her sheath her sword, he lets himself imagine if he, one day, had his own. He would want that for her, too.

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"Thank you."

He looks to her as she rests her head against his shoulder, her arms wound tightly around his as they walk. She can not see, but he offers her a puzzled expression.

"For what exactly?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes, something he's grown used to seeing from her. "Dummy."

Their walking stops, and she moves to the tips of her toes, offering him a small kiss. When she pulls away, she is smiling. It is soft and gentle, one she reserves for him and him alone.

"Thank you," she repeats, and he understands.

No other words are said. They don't need to be.

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End file.
